The Darkness
by Flash Foreward
Summary: They thought they had the right person. All of the evidence pointed to her, and the profile fit as well. But, when Hotchner is confronted by someone, he finds out that they were wrong. And he is forced to face a question he thought he'd put behind him.


**A/N:** A dark look at Hotchner...quotes at the begining and end are from "Natural Born Killer."

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds.

**The Darkness**

"_Some people grow up to become killers…"_

"I'll take this one," Aaron Hotchner said as he and David Rossi stared through the one-way window at the young woman in the interrogation room. Rossi shook his head, glancing side-ways at his fellow agent.

"You sure Prentiss wouldn't be a better choice?" he posed. Hotchner thought for a moment, never taking his eyes off of the girl, and with a sigh he spoke.

"You have a point, Rossi," he said. "But this case-"

"Hit a nerve?" Rossi interjected. Hotchner nodded and turned from the window. "I'll grab Prentiss," he said, walking past Rossi to the main office area of the police department. His fellow agents, Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss, were sitting with the young Doctor Spencer Reid at one of the near-by desks, all watching the door that Hotchner had emerged from.

"Prentiss," Hotchner said as he approached them. "How do you feel about taking this?" Prentiss thought for a moment, her eyes on the door, then nodded.

"I think I can handle it, Hotch," she said. She stood and took the file Hotchner offered her before disappearing through the door.

"You really think she did it?" Morgan asked. Reid raised a hand and spoke in his matter-of-fact way.

"Statistically speaking-" he started, but Morgan cut him off with a sideways glance.

"I'm not talking about statistics, Reid," he said. "I'm talking about one of the most brutal series of murders this city's seen being committed by a teenage girl." Hotchner nodded, a solemn look darkening his brown eyes.

"Unfortunately, Derek, all of our evidence points to her," he said. "And that includes the profile."

Silence fell over the three men, and they all slowly turned their gazes upon the door. Hotchner wondered how things were going and half hoped their profile had led them to the wrong person.

"I'm looking for Agent Hotchner," a voice floated into the Agent's thoughts and he turned his head quickly to see a blonde, teenage boy speaking to one of the local officers. He recognized the pale face and messy black hair of the most recent victim's boyfriend, Carl Kingson.

With a short nod, Hotchner stepped around the desk Reid and Morgan were sitting at and weaved through the lines of desks and chairs to where the boy was standing.

"Carl," he greeted, nodding to the officer as she turned back to what work she had been doing when the boy arrived.

"Agent Hotchner," Carl said. "Is there somewhere we could go to, uh, talk?" Hotchner turned to the officer.

"Can we use one of the back offices?" he asked. She nodded.

"There's one that's been empty for months," she said, handing him a key. "Two doors down from the chief's office. It was supposed to be renovated a few months ago, then, well, this case cropped up." Hotchner nodded, accepting the key.

"On top of everything else," he murmured. He led Carl back through the desks, past the Chief's office with the Venetian blinds hanging over the window in the door, and to a room out of sight of the rest of the precinct. He opened the door and stepped aside so Carl could enter, trailing the boy by only a few steps.

He shut the door and glanced around the room. The carpet was half torn up and a rather broken-down desk and the questionable looking wooden chair beside it were the only pieces of furniture. Carl had already leaned against the desk and Hotchner pulled the chair around to face the boy before sitting in it.

"Can I ask you something?" Carl asked before Hotchner could speak, Hotchner nodded. Carl said nothing for awhile, but he slipped his hand into his pocket and when he pulled it out, the dim light in the room glinted off the intricate handle of a switchblade knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade shot out and he held it up to his eyes, gazing at it with an almost loving look in his pale eyes.

"Did you honestly think she could have done it?" he asked. "Any of it? That pathetic bitch, pulling of a kill like that?"

"There is a room filled with police officers right through that door," Hotchner said, not moving. Carl laughed sharply and pointed the tip of the knife at Hotchner.

"You won't risk calling out to them," he said. "And from where they are, they can't see in." He pushed away from the desk and stood in front of Hotchner, pressing the flat of the knife against the man's cheek. He slowly lowered his hand, letting the metal brush against the man's skin until the blade was precariously close to Hotchner's neck.

"One flick of the wrist," he whispered. "And it's all over."

"You're saying Cary didn't do this?" Hotchner asked calmly, just trying to keep the boy talking. A smirk trailed over Carl's face and he shook his head.

"Do you think she could have?" he asked. "With those innocent eyes and her naïve belief that there is something better out there, that this world isn't all there is?" He shook his head. "No. The fact that you even considered her proves my suspicions about the accuracy of…what you do."

The last three words he spat out, as though they disgusted him, and droplets of his saliva fell on Hotchner's face. He didn't dare raise a hand to brush them off, however, and merely kept his gaze level with Carl's.

"What is it you hope to accomplish," he asked, "by holding me hostage in a police precinct?"

Carl stared at the man for a moment, then pushed away from him and turned his back. Still, Hotchner did not move.

"I want," Carl said, turning back to Hotchner. "I want to know what you did. How you made it stop."

"Made what stop?" Hotchner asked.

"The darkness," Carl said, gesturing to his head with the blade of his knife. "This thing in my head that won't shut up until I _do_ something." He looked down at Hotchner, his eyes filled with fear.

"You have it, too," he said. "I can see it. Or, well, mine can see yours; but you don't listen to it. You made it stop." Hotchner shook his head.

"I didn't make it stop," he said. "I listened to it in a different way."

"But, _how_?!" Carl demanded, lunging towards Hotchner and gripping tightly at the man's lapels, tears of frustration staining his cheeks. Hotchner lifted his hands to Carl's arms and slowly stood, lifting the boy to stand with him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the door swung open, slamming against the wall behind it. Hotchner turned his attention to the door, and as his eyes caught Morgan framed in the doorway, the cold metal of a knife pressed against his throat once more.

"Step into the room and close the door," he said softly. Morgan complied and Carl released Hotchner. The older Agent turned around and caught the boy's eye just as the knife fell to the ground, released from a death grip that had left indentations on Carl's palm.

The boy turned his back to Morgan and put his arms behind his back.

"I just…," he trailed off, his eyes staring emotionless ahead of him as Morgan cuffed him and recited his rights. "Wanted the darkness to go away."

Hotchner watched as Morgan guided Carl ahead of him and through the door. He stood alone in the broken room for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, and walking purposefully out of the room.

"…_and some people grow up to catch them."_


End file.
